


trips around a yellow sun

by Dandybear



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff, Monica has two moms, Period-Typical Homophobia, Racism, Those aren't the themes that's just the sad truth, mentions of 9/11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: “Carol, you’re my dad, right?” Monica pops out with.There’s a sharp exhale and for a moment Carol looks like she’s gonna cry. She nods, unable to reply.“Could you beat up Josh Turner’s dad?”“What does Josh Turner’s dad do?” Carol starts the car again.“He teaches karate.”Carol snorts, “Hell yeah I could beat up Josh Turner’s dad. I wouldn’t even need to use powers.”Carol comes back, she always does, but the world's a little different each time. Ramvers domestic stuff with period and situation appropriate angst.





	1. (1998) captain marvel

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 likes to eat my formatting, especially at 2 in the morning on a work night when i feel nauseous, so i am sorry, but also pity me. this has been unbeta'd so it probably has a bunch of silly mistakes.
> 
> this is a lot of headcanon stuff. i feel a little conflicted about the two gay men mentioned in this being dead. i will do better, there will be happy gay men who don't have anything bad happen to them.

**1998**

Carol

 

Carol's a glowing spot in the middle of a storm the size of Jupiter's. She's a tiny point on some Kree starship's radar, just pulsing radiation, when a felled space whale hits her in the face and she goes under. Dust, rocks, ice, and a little bit of that life-giving H2O spin her about so hard she doesn't know which way is up. 

And, for the second time in under ten years, Carol Danvers waves at Death as she goes whizzing by. 

She wakes up to a good dream. 

Life comes back into focus with doe-lashed brown eyes and a hand pressed to Carol's forehead. 

“Hey,” Maria drawls. 

“Hey, am I dead?” Carol groans. 

“Of course not, Darling, you're home,” Maria leans in for a kiss. 

Carol holds her back with a hand, fully awake now. Maria pauses, looking both startled and somewhat guilty. The world around her blurs at the edges, then comes into focus.

“When did we first meet?” Carol narrows her eyes. 

“Project Pegasus…?” Maria's voice raises in a question at the end. 

(This is not Louisiana, there’s no sunlight or light breeze stirring the curtains. She can’t hear the buzz of bugs or the scratch of Monica’s crayons. She’s not home. She’s still on this god forsaken hunk of metal hurtling through space.)

“Wrong-o. Talos, if you ever try to impersonate my mate again I will rip your little goblin ears off and feed them to you.”

Talos changes back, “Really violent of you, considering I was just trying to give you something nice to wake up to. Soren said she’d do a better job. I thought it was a pretty good likeness.”

“She would have. Never again,” Carol hisses as she sits up too fast. 

“What tipped you off? It was the ‘Darling’, right? Too saccharine. I knew it.”

Carol glances around the med bay. It's no worse for wear, but the lights are low. 

“How long have I been out?” Carol asks. 

“Take it easy, we had to drain one of our captives to get you back to your usual bright and cheery self,” Talos holds his hands out. 

“How long, Talos?” Carol growls. 

“About two weeks. Not too long at all.”

Carol does the mental math then slaps the bed, “Four months?!”

“Four of your Earth months, yeah, I guess.”

Carol gets up, whole body screaming at her as she stands and staggers toward the mirror and basin. 

Her own reflection is pale and more than a little green. Her lips are a washed out purple from the blue blood and the yellow of her eyes has lightened the usual brown. 

“Fuck.”

 

Maria 

 

Maria's a sensible girl. Hardworking, polite, always willing to lend a hand. The kind of woman to bring home to Mama. 

Maria also loves fixing cars, dreams of going to space, and keeps having to shoo suitors off. 

Because Maria's much more interested in what's under the skirt of the baker's daughter, but Billy Jones down the street was found tied to a car for kissing a boy. So, Maria crushes any attraction for girls with the heel of her boot, but that doesn’t solve the suitors problem.

Her mama doesn’t understand why she enlists in the USAF, but she supports it. Her little girl’s going to be a hero, and maybe meet a nice young man while she’s away.

It gives Maria more time to avoid finding a husband. But, fate would have her on leave in San Francisco--where being gay isn’t the worst thing in the world, and she forgets herself. It’s the words of a Fortune Teller--an idea of Sandra’s, the only other girl in her unit--that set up the stack of dominoes of un-sensible decisions.

“You will meet the love of your life today, you just have to look in the right place,” the Fortune Teller tells her.

And, Maria’s sensible. She knows that fortune tellers make their money off love and death. Marriage and family from beyond the grave.

Still, she sneaks out to the White Horse Inn anyway, because it’s one safe place she might be able to kiss a girl.

She doesn’t meet the love of her life, she meets Frank.

(Though, to the credit of the fortune teller, had Maria sat at the other side of the bar next to the jukebox, she would have been hit on by a little blonde firebrand in sunglasses too big for her face. As it was, a sulky Carol Danvers pumped quarters worth of Janis Joplin into the machine and sipped her beer.)

Frank is like Maria. A gay black kid who joined the military to get out of small town hell. And, just like Maria, he’s mortified to see members of his unit across the street when he heads out for a cigarette. 

He’s a handsome light skinned boy with a moustache and a winning smile. The smile is gone when he grabs Maria’s arm as she heads for the bathroom and asks her for help.

They play it straight, all over each other as they leave. It’s bizarre, and not unpleasant, but also not desired. To kiss a member of the opposite sex when they came there to do… not that.

Sensible goes further out of the window when they get back to Frank’s room and he says, “How do you know? You know… I could be bisexual. Maybe I’m bisexual.”

And, Maria’s not bisexual, she knows she’s not, but the thought of being able to live  _ normally.  _ To be herself, but also be able to hide that part of her from the rest of the world.

So, she invites herself in to Frank’s room and they both kid themselves for half an hour.

This is, of course, Monica’s origin story.

Frank never learns about Monica. It starts with Maria not knowing what to say, and it ends with his Jeep getting T-boned at the Mall of America intersection. She finds out via newspaper clipping and doesn’t know how she feels. 

And, just a year after Monica’s born, Carol Danvers come crashing back into Maria’s life and offers her the easy kind of forever that feels like a trick. ‘Cause Carol Danvers takes Maria being a single mom in stride. She and Monica are love at first sight. Like peas and carrots those two, and Maria had the sneaking suspicion that would bite her in the ass later. Over things like bedtime and desserts and  _ just five more minutes _ . Carol makes everything easier by always having a kiss and a cocky grin at the end of the day. Carol’s slow dancing next to the jukebox and how fucking good it feels to fly.

But, it was a trick. A dirty trick that lured her into a false sense of security. But Carol’s always got another one up her sleeve. Like dying, just another trick. She’s the coin behind Maria’s ear, or the false bottom in the trunk.

Carol comes back and she leaves. But, six months later and she was back. Not forever-back, but back long enough to get a job at the post office and coach Monica’s softball team. Long enough for date nights and crashing Church on Sundays in her dirty jeans and ball cap. Long enough for the neighbours to inquire as to the whereabouts of  _ “Miss Carol”  _ when she up and disappears again.

Maria smiles and avoids the questions.

Carol’s gone this time for just short of two years. Twenty-three months.

She comes back in the middle of the night and Maria almost shoots her. Waking up to see a dark figure stripping at the foot of her bed? Damn right she’s reaching for the revolver in the nightstand.

“Stand down, Soldier,” Carol says with a hand extended.

“This is a dream,” Maria lowers the revolver.

“Would a dream do this?” Carol flashes her breasts.

“Yes.”

“Hmm, must be a good dream then,” her space suit thuds on the floor.

Maria’s awake now, “You missed Monica’s birthday.”

“Yeah, I was shooting to be back for then, but the planet we were on had this massive storm for a couple hundred years, scrambled all communication devices, fucked with my internal clock. Escaped the atmosphere less than a week ago and realized how much time it’d been. Think she’ll forgive me if I get her a pony?” Carol digs one of Maria’s shirts, and some fresh underwear out as pajamas.

Maria accepts the offered hello kiss, relishing in the feeling of having Carol’s lips on her again. To smell her skin and press against her warmth. Just touching her face and arms again, it’s like it’s been forever and no time at all.

“You’re a little fixated on getting her a pony,” Maria says, overcoming her relief.

“Maybe.” Carol kisses Maria’s cheek.

“She’s a teenager now. And an insubordinate one at that.”

“Damn, wonder where she gets that from,” Carol crawls over Maria to get into her side of the bed. There’s the shuffling of pillows and blankets to get comfortable, before settling into each other again.

“You smell like burnt tires,” Maria complains.

“I’m too tired to shower,” Carol whines.

So, naturally, it takes her all of twenty minutes of spooning to try and stick her hand down Maria’s shorts.

“I’m not having sex with you when you’re all covered in space germs,” Maria swats the hand.

Carol huffs and rests her hand over Maria’s womb instead. Her nose burrows its way against Maria’s neck, breathing even despite being conscious.

“Do you wish we had more than one?” Carol asks out of the blue.

“More than one what?” Maria yawns.

“Kid.”

Maria rolls over to face Carol. They’re nose to nose and for the first time she notices a sickly yellow tinge to Carol’s eyes.

“Did something happen?” she asks.

“Needed another Kree blood transfusion, should flush out of my system in a few days,” Carol rubs her forehead.

“No, I mean, why are you thinking about kids?”

“It’s nothing. Just, she’s growing up so fast and I missed so much, I’d love to try and do it again. Without fucking up so bad this time.”

“Does that mean you’re staying for good?” Maria pulls on Carol’s wrist until they’re holding hands.

“No,” she sighs, “I need to go back, but I couldn’t be away from you two any longer.”

“How long can you stay?” Maria asks, fearing the answer.

“September at the earliest, I’m gonna try to stay until New Year though.”

Which is longer than last time, but this is all hypothetical.

“That is, if I’m still welcome to say,” Carol lowers her lashes.

“This will always be your home,” Maria sighs, stroking Carol’s cheek.

“Will you always be mine?” Carol takes a deep breath, “Because, I know that’s too much to ask. I’m gone more than I’m here and you need someone stable. Monica too.”

Maria gets up on her elbow and looks down at Carol with a furrowed brow, “Seriously, what happened?”

“Talos and Soren had another kid, and this special forces Kree team caught up to us on this fucking awful planet. It was pretty touch and go, and for a second I thought… maybe I wasn’t going to make it back to you. And, I thought these are some conversations we need to have. In case… you know, the worst happens.”

She’s right of course, but Maria can’t help feel both indignant and reverent. With mortal seriousness, she says, “Carol Danvers, you are my soulmate, and if you go then that’s it for me. I’ve already got true love. There’s no one else on the list.”

“You don’t know that,” Carol flops onto her back.

“I do. You’re the only one for me,” Maria follows her, resting her chin on Carol’s chest.

There’s a long silence. It’s not awkward, it just isn’t defined by words. The silence is filled with two sets of brown eyes locked on each other, and Carol bringing Maria’s hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles right on the old scar she got from a stray dog.

“I love you,” Carol sounds so deadly tired.

“I love you too, dumb ass. Don’t you forget it.”

“Yes’m.”

 

Monica

 

“My dad could beat up your dad!” Josh Turner says to Kevin MacLeod on the bus.

“Nuh-uh, my dad’s a US Marine!”

“Oh yeah?! Well, my dad teaches karate!”

Monica never gets into these arguments, because she has to hold her tongue. No one would believe her if she jumped in with,  _ “My Aunt Carol can blow up spaceships with her hands.” _

And, she can’t even brag about the normal things her Aunt Carol can do like flip pancakes and burp the alphabet, because not only is her Aunt Carol a superhero,  _ she’s gay _ . The worst dad in the world is somehow better than having two moms. It’s bullshit. Because Carol is the coolest and the toughest dad.

So when Monica wakes up Monday morning to find Carol in the kitchen making pancakes, the relief feels different. Before, she’s always just been happy to see Carol, now there’s all of these mixed emotions.

“Oh my god, you’ve gotten so big,” Carol swings Monica around in a hug. She presses a raspberry to Monica’s cheek and Monica laughs weakly, not shrieking like she used to. Carol narrows her eyes and looks down at her--as much as she can, Monica’s catching up to her height quick.

“Eat up quick, I’m driving you to school today.”

And, with any other parent it would make a kid groan, but Carol has a tape deck full of punk music in her Mustang and a pair of reflective sunglasses that make her  _ the coolest ever. _ And, Carol stops her from getting out for just a moment.

“How’s high school treating you?”

Monica shrugs.

“That good, huh? Tell you what, you can give me the play by play after school. I’ll pick you up and we can get ice cream.”

And, true to her word, Carol’s outside blasting  _ Livin’ on a Prayer  _ and  _ Danger Zone  _ as Monica makes her way across the field. And, she hears Josh Turner exclaim,  _ “Who is that?” _

“Did you have a good day?” Carol asks as Monica pops open the passenger door.

Monica shrugs.

“Alright, let’s get you that ice cream bribe then,” Carol says.

They stop at a gas station along the main road that boasts over 32 flavours  _ plus  _ soft serve. She lets Carol steer her in with a hand on her back because she may be fourteen, but she hasn’t seen Carol in over a year. But, she hangs back by the postcards and map rack while Carol orders at the counter.

“Can we get one vanilla and one with the chocolate and vanilla swirled together?” Carol orders, tapping her five dollar bill between two fingers.

The woman standing opposite shoots Carol a too-wide smile and speaks in a voice of sweet Southern hospitality, “I’m sorry, Miss, but we have chocolate and vanilla here.  _ Separately. _ ”

Her eyes dart to Monica and Monica can feel her ears get hot. And, she can see the boiling rage building in Carol, so she tugs on her jacket and says.

“Can we please just go?”

Carol’s eyes are blazing and her lips are pulled tight. She wrestles with someone to say to the woman, but Monica’s beckoning drags her out.

So, she kicks up dust in the parking lot and slams her car door super hard. Monica flinches, fidgeting with her hands while Carol stares at the steering wheel.

“Auntie Carol?”

Slow exhale. Flared nostrils. Hands cracking on the steering wheel.

“I can fly. I’ve wiped out entire armies with my fists, and I can do nothing when some fucking--sorry, effing racist old bag doesn’t want to serve us  _ miscegenated ice cream _ !” 

Fear actually hits Monica, because she knows Carol would never hurt her, but what if that power misfires?

Her voice comes out breathy, “It’s okay, Auntie Carol, let’s just go home.”

The look she receives for that is equal parts apologetic and wounded.

Carol swallows whatever ire she had and nods, put out like a doused grease fire.

“Hang tight,” Carol says when they pull into the grocery store parking lot. Monica’s hand hovers over the door latch, considering the cost-benefit analysis of staying versus going.

What if Carol’s space pager rings when she’s in the grocery store and she has to leave with Monica waiting in the parking lot?

Monica jogs to catch up, “Wait, I’m coming too.”

And, maybe it’s just the neighbourhood, but they don’t get second looks as they goof around in the aisles. It’s more likely that everyone is tired and distracted after long work days and don’t have it in them to be judgmental. They get Rocky Road because Carol’s stuck on the mixing chocolate and vanilla thing. When they get back into the car Carol looks at Monica with such intensity, “There’s nothing wrong with our family. You got that? We’re perfect the way we are, and no one can say any different.”

Monica nods, feeling her cheeks heat up again.

“If the world were a better place we wouldn’t have to hide it.”

“I know.”

“On other planets they don’t have these fucking problems. God, maybe I should move us to G-775.”

“Carol, you’re my dad, right?” Monica pops out with.

There’s a sharp exhale and for a moment Carol looks like she’s gonna cry. She nods, unable to reply.

“Could you beat up Josh Turner’s dad?”

“What does Josh Turner’s dad do?” Carol starts the car again.

“He teaches karate.”

Carol snorts, “Hell yeah I could beat up Josh Turner’s dad. I wouldn’t even need to use powers.”

“Cool, can you show me?” Monica asks.

“Ask your mother.”

 

#

 

Life settles back into the good times. Carol will take her out flying sometimes, if the night is clear and warm enough. Monica feels the thrill of weightlessness and gets to test her trust in Carol. At the end of each trip, they stop at the local water tower to look at the sky and shoot the shit.

“I’ve been thinking. I should get a job,” Monica says.

“What? Too good for your paper route?” Carol says.

“It’s summer and I’m booorrred.”

“And you’re still a kid. You job is to be learning.”

“Boo. Booooo. Booooooo,” Monica tips her head into Carol’s shoulder.

“Do I hear a Boo-urns?” Carol says.

“Boooooooooo!”

“Okay, tell you what, act surprised when Mom tells you, but we signed you up for piano lessons on weekends.”

Carol sounds so excited that Monica doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s much more of a left brained person. Instead, Monica puts on her most grateful smile.

And, she keeps that smile at dinner when Maria announces it. And, she asks if Carol can start teaching her to read Kree.

“Whatchu want to learn Kree for?” Carol asks, drying her hands on Maria’s butt.

Maria whacks her with a hand towel. Monica avoids looking at them because they’re embarrassing.

“Well, I just think that it would be beneficial to my education to learn another language, and why not learn one you know?” Monica says.

She can tell she’s laid it on too thick, because Maria’s giving her a skeptical look.

“Oh, so when Grandma wants to teach you French, you say no, but you want to learn a space language no one else on the planet speaks?”

“Duh,” Monica says.

“We’ll talk about it,” Carol says.

So, it’s piano on Saturdays, then Church followed by more piano on Sundays, and Monica hates it. She tries coming home early, but upon entry hears a noise she never wants to hear again.

It’s a guttural, primal moan coming from upstairs. And, she went to a sleepover at Kate Beaumont’s house where they put on a tape they found in her dad’s drawer and what they were doing sounded like that.

There’s another moan, one higher in pitch, and a thumping and oh  _ God. _

So, Monica legs it to the back shed with the headphones and her sketchbook and sounds out the Kree letters.

If she’s going to skip piano, it’s going to have to be somewhere away from home. Instead she goes to the internet cafe where men and women with weird hair and trench coats gather to talk about things like servers, ips, and databases. And, Monica empties sugar packets into her iced coffee as she asks them if they can hack into government servers. And, because it's 1998, they absolutely can. And, they do, because they’re curious themselves. Having heard whispers of a secret faction of the government built to cover up superhero activity.

“What should we call you?” a woman with pink hair asks.

“Mon--”

“We don’t do real names here. It’s too dangerous. What’s your code name?” a man with a beard says.

Monica thinks of call signs and Kree words, and her own nicknames over the years.

“Captain Trouble. No, wait--”

 

Carol

 

Life is pretty damn good. They had tacos for dinner and they're coming home from seeing  _ Godzilla  _ at the duplex when they find Nick Fury waiting on their porch. 

“A word,” he says, eyepatch and all.

Monica's got her chin defiantly raised as she sits at the table. To her left is Maria, shooting her looks of betrayal. To her right is Carol, leaning on the counter and playing defense. Fury is center stage. 

“They got you chasing down hackers now, Fury? Thought you would've been promoted by now?” Carol says, same smug half smile and tone. 

“I was promoted. I'm here as a friend. I had to talk a lot of people out of cracking down harder than this, because you asked me to take care of your family and I take that seriously,” he goes from defensive to wounded so well. He’d be a great mom like that.

Carol stops baring her teeth, relaxing. Instead, she rubs her eyes. 

“How bad is it?”

“Well, after the screaming stopped, they suggested giving Junior here a job,” he says. 

“She's fourteen,” Maria objects. 

“I could work for SHIELD?” Monica pipes up. 

“Absolutely not,” her mothers say in stereo. 

“Kid's breaking into government databases to dig out this,” Fury throws down a familiar set of blueprints.

That hits Carol harder than an asteroid. Of course. Of fucking course. She’s been so busy with her own shit that she’s been letting this go on right under her nose. Monica’s smart. Smarter than all of them by leaps and bounds, but this is too much. Carol wants to fly a few laps to clear her head and be sure she can talk without her voice cracking, but that’s not gonna happen. She goes through a face journey, settling on a shrewd twist of the mouth. At a glance, she sees Maria covering her face with one hand. Then Carol gets down on Monica's eye level. 

“Oh, Sweetheart.”

“Earth doesn't have light travel, but if we did then would could expand to other planets,” Monica says. 

The anger in the room dissipates and Fury turns his back, blowing out a breath. 

Her sweet girl. Her sweet baby girl. Little Monica’s been trying to join her in the stars. Carol picks her up into a hug. She feels like she can’t hide now. The guilt she’s been avoiding by going higher, further, faster. 

“I'm so sorry,” Carol says. 

“If we could go and visit you then you wouldn't always have to wait so long to come home.”

Maria makes a noise, hand squeezing Carol’s shoulder then pressing between her shoulder blades.

It’s enough to make her knees buckle and the tears drip down her nose. Why does it have to be like this? Why is she getting torn in half, unable to leave, unable to stay. She’s doomed to straddle the line, pleasing neither.

“I've got an early flight,” Fury says quietly, grabbing his hat. 

“I'll come see you out,” Carol says half into Monica's hair. 

It's not yet late enough into summer for the humidity to be stifling. There's still some cool wind that scatters the wind chimes. Fury's still got his glass of sweet tea in hand so he doesn't look like he's going anywhere just yet. 

“Do you want to see her hacker code name?” he asks. 

She takes the offered sheet, tucking her hair behind one ear nervously. 

Reading it makes her snort. 

“Oh, so you think this is funny? I have to explain to my superiors that  _ Captain Marvel  _ is a thirteen year-old girl from Louisiana!”

“Yeah, and she got past SHIELD security pretty quick, guess you need a new tech guy,” Carol says. 

“Can't disagree there, I hate our computers guy.”

“Is she gonna be on a list now?” Carol asks. 

“Yeah, but hopefully just the one of 'kids who wrecked our spy shit’ that they keep on file for hiring season. I mean it, she could be a real asset once she gets a little older.”

“And that'll be her choice, once she finishes college. My old man didn't think I was worth sending to school. So, you bet your ass my kid is gonna have the best damn education money can buy,” Carol says. 

There's an intensity in her eyes that makes Fury drop the subject. He knows better than to poke that bear. 

“Have yourself a good stay, Carol,” then he looks past her shoulder and through the screen door to see Maria and Monica obviously eavesdropping. 

“Good evening ladies,” Fury says. 

 

Monica

 

Monica wilts under the stare of her parents. 

“Monica Louise!” Maria raises her voice. 

“I think she prefers Captain Marvel,” Carol chimes in. 

She gets the same angry look Monica's wilting under.

“Busting into government servers to steal classified documents?! What were you thinking?” Maria says.

“I just wanted to see if we could build it, and I knew you’d say no!” 

Maria and Carol argue with their eyes and a few hand gestures. 

“Monica, go to your room. We need to discuss this,” Maria sighs. 

It's that tired sigh that feels way worse than any slap. The feeling that she's disappointed her mother. 

Yelling from downstairs has Monica putting her walkman in. She takes the rough sketches of the design out of the shoebox under her bed and tears them up. 

She's reading  _ Goosebumps _ about an hour later when a knock on her door cuts through the Aaliyah on her headphones. 

They don't look mad anymore. Well, Carol never did, nor did she look incorrigible. She looked sad and tired. Like, for the first time, Monica became frighteningly aware that not only are her parents mortal, they’re fallible. 

“So,  _ Captain _ Trouble,” Carol says, “You really earned your stripes today.”

Monica crosses her arms, wary of where this is going. She stuffs the designs back into her sketchbook and gets ready for the lecture.

Maria plays with Carol's fingers as she thinks, “Today scared me. Monica, you need to understand, what you did was so incredibly dangerous. The government could have taken you away from us.”

“That's against the Human Rights Conventions!” Monica argues. 

“It would be a matter of National security,” Carol says with a grimace. 

“You know how we always tell you to be very careful around police officers?” Maria says. 

Monica nods. 

“These guys are like cops but with more authority,” Maria says. 

Carol has a guilty hangdog look, and Maria squeezes her hand. 

“And, we don't want you hanging out with creepy old weirdos. So, if you want to learn about computers and stuff, we'll get you some classes at the local college, where there'll be some other grown ups around,” Carol says. 

Their understanding is too much, and Monica feels shameful tears slip down her cheeks. 

“If you're so into plane building you can start helping me in the garage,” Maria says. 

“Your mom and I have been talking about designing something space ready, so maybe you'd like to help out,” Carol adds.

It ends Monica's budding career as a concert pianist (she was never going to be a concert pianist) and her friendship with the Dot-com-ers at the cyber cafe. But, it is the beginning of a future in engineering and astrophysics. And, she gets a job mowing lawns on Sundays, partly to 'pay off her debt to society’ but mostly to give her mothers some privacy. 


	2. early 2000's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica graduates high school, Maria deals with empty nest anxiety, and Carol nose dives into the beginnings of a breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went through many different versions and then the chapter got too long, so you'll get context for the 2004 scene soon *jazz hands*
> 
> Special shoutout to Endgame for not dunking this pairing into the garbage.
> 
> Welcome to part one of: "why didn't Carol prevent these major historical tragedies?" guest starring. Did You Know That You Didn't Used to Have to Go Through The TSA?
> 
> there be fuckin in this chapter
> 
> artistic license: I am not American and I do a poor attempt of understanding how the country works
> 
> blease review, you all are lovely and kind for having reviewed already but mama needs her affirmations fix if she's gonna keep writing the fics.

 

**2004**

The power's low enough for even the emergency lights to have faded. Just the lower rings of phosphorescence glow to give some light. His breath is heavy, rattling, as he raises his feet, trying to make himself smaller. 

That thing hunting him can glide. Could glide if it wanted to sneak up on him. 

But it wants him to know its coming. 

Metal screeches up ahead. He swallows hard, reaching for the grate behind him. It creaks. He pulls harder. 

It's too late. 

The walls glow with heat and the figure that approaches him is one he knows from his nightmares. Glowing eyes. Glowing teeth.  A plume of flame emerging from the top of its head. Garbed in a sick parody of the Kree empire. 

He doesn't get a chance to scream. 

 

* * *

 

**2002**

 

Monica

Summer comes to town on the wings of a short spring. It's the last days of school and every day she's reminded of her outsider status by blonde hair, blue eyes, and Confederate flag bumper stickers. Kids her own age packed into Jeeps and pickup trucks blasting Eminem and Nelly as they pull into the parking lot. 

This is her last year. No more small-town bullshit, no more defaced lockers, no more fucking seniors week. 

The school security guard--a new feature, stops her and makes her empty her backpack on her way in. Naturally, he lets James Owens pass on by, despite James Owens owning a knife and an NRA membership. No, Monica gets stopped because she's “at risk” which is authority speak for “one of ten black kids at the white school”. She lets him comb through textbooks, circuit boards, and granola bars before shoving it all back in her pack magnanimously. Once through the security check, she starts her mp3 player back up, filling her head with Rage Against the Machine. 

Mama tells her not to give into hate like she's some kind of Jedi or something, but she doesn't have kindness as a survival instinct like her mother does. She runs on diesel, coffee, and rage. 

Rage that is, honestly, better directed upwards. Not to God. No, she and he have nothing to say to each other. No, who Monica is mad it is someone more beloved and powerful than God. Someone who said she'd be home to stay so many times before, but never does. God doesn't flake out on birthdays and promises. His indifference is a lot less personal. 

Trey Young is still trying to get her attention in robotics class and she's still ignoring him. He's cute. Sweet. Probably the most normal guy she's ever met. He's more committed to playing video games and volunteering at church than to being a one niche kind of guy, but she's moving to Boston in the fall and she doesn't want to get attached only to leave. It wouldn't be fair. 

It's been something shaped like a good day. Katy Heron and Bayley Michaelson are too obsessed with the Cotillion coming up to hassle her about her hair or her clothes and she was able to eat chicken strips and do her calculations in peace. 

All of that good dissipates though, when the final bell rings and she hears the familiar revving of a Mustang from the school parking lot. 

Monica hates Carol. But more than that, she hates the smile that comes at the sight of her mother, looking like a photograph of herself leaning on heavy steel. 

“Ice cream?” Carol asks, as if that will make everything better. 

“Do you wanna drive out to the shooting range and do some donuts this weekend?” Carol tries again in her silence. 

“Monica, I'm sorry,” she finally gets to.

 

* * *

 

 

Maria

“I love  _ Carl _ . I love him so much that I actually like having him around,” that gets a few chuckles. 

The women around her are open, looking at her with the same tired eyes she's used to seeing in the mirror. 

“It's like, I want to appreciate him while he's here, but if I do that well enough then it's like forgetting he's gonna leave again, and I just can't handle that. So I get angry. I hate him. Just a little bit. For being so good. He's so good to me and to our little girl, but he's also so good to the people he's protecting.”

(This is the third support group Maria's been to, and it's two parishes away. The first group was all white women and she left as soon as she got there. The second's attitude shifted the minute she mentioned she had a white husband. Husband. The word she's been conditioning herself to replace girlfriend with. Carl. Not too much of a stretch. In her mind's eye, Carl's got a moustache and wears Hawaiian print shirts. He's got the same cocky smile, same mole under his eye, same vocal fray when he talks.)

A woman in sweats, Meghan, reaches out, “Do you ever worry he's having an affair? Being so good to someone else, I mean.”

That hits surprisingly solid. Yes, and no. She always wonders, Carol's out there playing Captain Kirk aboard some starship, if she's kissing beautiful space women on every forbidden planet she visits. Then Carol comes home and only ever has eyes for her. Like, Maria's had her moments of needing to stick her eyes to a woman's rear, or her neck, or the bow of her lips. She has never caught Carol doing the same. Sure, she flirts playfully with the teenage boys who pump gas and serve cigarettes, but that's more for sport if anything. See how many of them she can get tripping over each other. 

“I don't think he's having an affair. Well, unless you count his job as the other woman,” Maria answers. 

That gets a wave of laughter throughout the room. One woman snaps in agreement. 

“I just keep wondering when he's gonna be done and stay home for good.”

“It's the same with my Dan, but when I ask him about it, he says he's always wishing he were home. He's just got something to finish first.”

 

* * *

 

 

Carol

Almost vaporizing your mother-in-law is not the best homecoming. She needs to recalibrate her sense of danger because an unrecognized figure doing dishes should not get a Defcon 5 reaction.

“Hey Louise,” Carol exhales on a hug. 

“You alright, Sweetheart? You look blanched.”

Carol takes the offered seat and sweet tea, sliding against the wood in her seat. She's human. She's home. She's safe. 

Why does she need this mantra? As far as galactic food chains go, she's at the top. She's looked for something stronger than her, and the only thing that really counts is numbers, space, and time. 

“Want some cobbler? We have vanilla ice cream. I'm gonna get you some cobbler,” Louise fills the silence with quiet kitchen bustling. 

Carol spoons some into her mouth and closes her eyes, God, she missed this. Peaches. Cinnamon. Allspice. Apple. The way oats and brown sugar dissolve on her tongue and that orange juice aftertaste. The cool vanilla helps wash it down, cloying in the way it sticks to the other flavours. Carol forgets eating. Forgets consuming calories for the pleasure of it. Food slights her senses. Makes her human again. 

“'ria home?” she asks. 

“Got a delivery a few parishes over, time for you to pick up some flowers,” Louise doesn't bother hinting. 

“And to get Mon’ from school, is it still cool to get picked up by a muscle car?”

Louise is dropping a biscuit into the waiting mouth of her aging mop dog, Charlie Barker. It takes her a moment to formulate her response, “I don't think that will ever stop being cool.”

 

* * *

 

 

Maria

Carol's home with flowers and daughter in hand when Maria rolls back in from group. She's sticky and bone tired, but the sight of star yellow hair against one of Maria's shirts is like heroin for the soul. Maria's barely out of the car when Carol's digging her hands into her back pockets and licking her way into her mouth. They're in their forties and still kiss against the side of her car like a pair of horny teenagers. 

“I came home looking for you, freaked out, and almost vaporized your mother,” Carol says into her neck. 

“I can see why you waited until after I let you grope me to tell me that.”

Carol checks Maria’s stiffening form to see if there’s real anger. Maria has to lower her eyes, not wanting to get into it now. Not when there’s a bouquet of calla lillies with her name on it. Carol’s looking at her like she’s a three course meal and Carol’s been starving. Like she’s to be savoured and devoured.

“I wish your mother and our daughter weren’t here so I could give you a proper homecoming gift,” Carol says hotly against Maria’s neck.

Maria tilts her head for access. She wishes that too, but more than that, she wishes for the easy days inside military housing they shared. That little two bedroom with the peeling wallpaper. The assurance that Carol would be home 365 days of the year. The two of them sharing a ratty bed and gas money. It felt like all the responsibility in the world then, Like they were drowning in it and as they got older it’d be smooth sailing. Not Carol as a career galaxy protector who only sees their daughter once every two years.

But, she’s home now. She’s warm and supple in Maria’s hands. She’s helping set the table for dinner, giving Maria time to coax Monica out of her workshop.

“Hey, what’re you working on?” Maria asks.

“Long range receiver,” Monica doesn’t look up.

“Dinner’s ready,” Maria says.

“Is Carol still here or did she leave already?” Monica snarks.

Maria sighs through her nose, “That’s not fair. Go wash up.”

Monica looks like she’s about to retort, so Maria raises an eyebrow, daring her daughter to try it. Go ahead.

Monica concedes her loss, setting her tools aside and following Maria back to the house. 

Louise leads them all in saying Grace. Carol usually does this gag where she makes faces at Monica across the table while all eyes are supposed to be closed. She tries, but Monica screws her face shut. Maria checks. When they're clear to eat, Carol's making eye contact with her plate, clearly hurt. Maria exhales softly and strokes her partner's knuckles. Carol presses her lips towards the corner of her mouth in a half-smile. 

“Poppy's at Rotary club?” Monica asks. 

Louise nods, “He'll be home for dessert.”

“How's Stanley been doing?” Carol asks. 

Carol and Maria's stepfather have never been close, but have the tolerance of two people who have the same baseball team. They drink beer and watch sports in each other's company just fine. Maria couldn't really ask for better. Even if Carol was Carl and the only thing they had to worry about was getting the laundry speech from both sides. 

Monica is on dish duty after dinner so Maria can help Carol unpack. 

“I missed our bed,” Carol groans from where she's faceplanted against the duvet. 

“It's a lot nicer with you in it,” Maria says pointedly. 

Carol flops onto her back, exposing the hard lines of her stomach to the air. It's tempting, too tempting, to kiss every muscle there, but that's going to lead down past Carol's jeans and her mother is still in the kitchen. Instead, Maria presses the flat of her palm there, then lays next to Carol. 

“Hi,” Carol rasps. 

“Hi,” Maria says. 

She accepts the nuzzle, tangling a hand in Carol's hair, “It's getting long.”

“Yeah, should probably get it cut.”

“Could go by Sylvia's this weekend.”

“D'you think Monica wants some fancy new hair for grad? I've got the savings to dig out.”

“It's in our joint account, Baby, we're fine by the way.”

Carol grunts, moving her face even closer to Maria's neck, “Good good. I'm going to spoil the shit out of her.”

Maria forgets to bite back the retort, “Buying her things isn't going to make up for being gone.”

Carol recoils. Maria's seen her blink after getting hit in the face with a truck, but this is what makes her eyes water. 

“I know. I know and I'm sorry,” the tears come alarmingly quick. The big, red eyed tears that make her lashes stick together. Carol sits up, sobbing into her hand. Maria gets up onto her knees, pressing her fingertips into the meat of Carol's shoulder, something comforting. It doesn't feel like a win. Of course Carol feels infinitely guilty. It isn't going to stop her from leaving again. It's the same old impasse, and not for the first time, Maria wonders if the fight is bigger than the three of them can handle. 

Carol never cries very long, but this time she's spotted by Monica, who's pushed the door open with her knuckles. 

Maria sees the same guilt stricken face on her daughter as on her girlfriend. 

“I'm going to Sophie's to pick up a semiconductor,” Monica says quietly. 

“It's late,” Maria says. 

Carol snuffles, wiping at her eyes and nose, embarrassed to be caught. 

“It's nine,” Monica argues. 

“On a school night,” Maria fires back. 

“I'll be back for curfew,” Monica pleads. 

“You can take the 'stang,” Carol digs her keys out of her jeans. 

Maria rubs a temple, because of course they still gang up on her when they're barely even speaking. 

“That okay, Mommy?” Monica asks, eyeing Carol warily. 

“Yeah, back by eleven,” Maria sighs. 

“Kay, love you,” Monica looks from Maria to Carol. With a resolute drop of the shoulders, she darts forward, kissing their cheeks. 

Carol waits for the engine to rumble away, playing with Maria's fingers, “She's a good kid. You raised her right.”

Maria agrees, she agrees silently as she hears Monica say, 'Goodnight’ to her grandmother downstairs. Then again as the Mustang chugs away at a safe pace. She agrees, quietly, into her knuckle, when she hears the Mustang return to the driveway from her spot seated on Carol's face. Maria checks the clock. 10:55. 

“Good girl,” Carol says against hot, sensitive flesh. 

 

* * *

 

 

Monica

Maria says that Monica was born with joy at her core. She wants to disagree, wants to stay angry at her parents and at the whole world, but it's hard to hate everything when your mom recreates the iconic scene from ET with you on a dirt bike. Monica whoops as they hit the ground, bounce, then topple. Carol takes the impact for them, laughing at the scar they leave in the dirt. 

“You okay, Cap?” Carol asks. 

“Again,” Monica pants. 

Carol checks her watch, “Next weekend maybe, we've gotta make our hair appointments. I've been thinking of going all Jen Aniston. Do you think Mama will like it?” 

Monica purses her lips, “I dunno, ask Sylvia.”

“I'll take that as a no.”

“Sylvia's the expert,” Monica dusts off her knees. 

Sylvia's salon is on the lovely side of kitsch. Everything is rhinestones and bead curtains. Carol accepts the cup of Chai tea, and Monica smirks at the clear displeasure she sees as she keeps politely sipping it. 

“Something shorter and spunky for Auntie here, how about you Cher?” Sylvia fluffs some of Monica's hair. 

She's left Carol in the hands of the other stylist, Annabelle, because she doesn't trust anyone else with black hair. 

“Trim for sure,” Monica hesitates on what she wants, casting a sidelong glance at Carol. 

“Wanna make it a surprise?” Sylvia leans in. Monica nods. 

Carol's easily preoccupied with balancing her discomfort and her powers. It's kind of sad, Monica thinks, that her mother hasn't been treated gently or pampered in so long that she reacts to it harshly. But, she's pretty sure Carol's always shrugged off 'girly’ things like salons and manicures. It does bring faded memories of bottles of nail polish and stickers she got to choose. Carol putting her hair into puffs and dropping her off at kindergarten. 

The memory helps her decision. 

“Very bold,” Sylvia remarks. 

Carol wanders in with her hair freshly styled, “You cats sure are taking a while over here. What's up?”

Sylvia shoos Carol away, “She wants it to be a surprise, go take a walk.”

Carol's reading a magazine in the waiting area when Monica shyly steps out. She can't stop looking at her own reflection. It feels right. Like who she's supposed to be. 

Carol's jaw drops, then her eyes get all big and shiny. 

“Look at my little girl, all grown up. You look like a star.”

Blonde hair creates a new halo in Monica's periphery, she shrugs it off, but knows she can't hide her smile. Platinum hair for grad.

Maria takes one look at them when they get home and holds her chest as if struck. 

“Matched set,” she says with watery eyes. 

“It's a drastic change, I know,” Carol points to her bangs. 

“I don't know how I'll ever adjust,” Maria jokes, ruffling Carol's hair. 

“You look amazing, Baby Girl,” Maria says against Monica's temple.

They all curl up on the couch after dinner and watch Toy Story 2 because Carol hasn't seen it yet. She ignores the loud sniffing that comes from her parents’ side of the couch at Jessie's story. Oh shit, yeah, that would probably hit home. She hopes this doesn't feel like a passive aggressive dig disguised as family movie night. She sneaks a glance over to see her mothers twined together like Carol is being absorbed by Maria. Their fingers are interlaced like a lattice.   

It’s like Monica has two lives. There’s the normal life with her and her mom, but then there’s the better life when Carol’s home. Charmed life versus semi-charmed life. She sinks back into the charmed life on Monday morning, windows down as Carol drives her to school.

“Oh my god, is that Joshua Young?” Carol asks.

Monica rubs the bridge of her nose, “Keep driving please.”

“What is he wearing? He could fit four legs in those pants.”

“It’s the fashion right now, Aunt Carol. White boys all wanna look like they’re part of Wu-Tang Clan,” Monica sighs.

“Look like the what?” Carol lowers her sunglasses.

Monica laughs a little in disbelief, “Right, that’s not a reference you’d get.”

“Hey, I can be cool with the kids. What’s a Wu-Tang Clan?”

“They make rap music.”

Carol slows the car to let more teenage boys go by, “Okay, seriously? That boy’s hair looks like Mr. Noodles.”

“I know it must be a confusing time for you to see men without porn staches and crewcuts.”

Carol clutches her chest in mock offense, “You cut me deep, Kid. My own child… turned against me.”

Monica can’t help but crack a smile, “I’m going to go to school now before anyone can see you being corny.”

“Too late,” Carol leans over to press an exaggerated kiss to Monica’s cheek.

“Argh! Auntie Carol!”

Her new hair colour certainly turns heads at school. Trey Young spills his Pepsi blue all over himself when she walks in and it feels a victory. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Carol

Like food and sleep, sex is something Carol needs to remember wanting. When she’s out there in space she’s not quite Carol and she’s not quite Vers. She’s got a lot of names to match her reputation now. She’s been savior, soldier, spectre, but none of these things are human. She’s a weapon, a tool. Some call  _ The Comet  _ (rough translations in different dialects) because… well… that’s what she looks like. The Comet doesn’t get hungry or tired. She recharges on an energy source. She gets results.

Sex doesn’t figure into that equation. There are times, when she is connected between body and mind, where she will be talking to someone and notice their interest. Maybe Carol will have a moment of appreciation. A returned hot gaze, or eyes glancing down some foreign, but familiar curves. That’s as far as it goes. She doesn’t mean to disconnect herself from her desires so harshly--it’s just that… the universe owns so much of her. She needs some pieces private. Some pieces of her are not for everyone. The Captain, The Comet, is a celibate savior. She is a soldier. Id-less efficiency.

The masses are not entitled to her sex life.

Getting home is seeing with all the colours again. She’s seen a sunrise on Contraxia that looks like a thousand prisms all meeting as one, and it’s still muted in comparison to a damp Louisiana afternoon. 

Carol’s life is sweet tea, and a big porch, and  _ Maria’s ass. _

The ass that she’s currently sliding her clit against with a force that slams the headboard against the wall. Carol looks at this ass and wonders how she could ever forget sex. Maria’s own cunt is wet against Carol’s thigh and her clit is hard and slick, chased back and forth by the fingers of Carol’s right hand. Her left is currently leaving finger-shaped bruises on Maria’s hip.

“Fuck, Baby,” Carol groans, letting her neck tip back and slowing her thrusts.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Maria tells her, sheets twisting in her fists. 

Carol wants to tell her that she’s not sure she could stop if she tried--well,  _ yes she could _ , because she’ll always stop when Maria tells her to--but it feels so fucking good to be having her like this again. And, a higher thinking part of her adds in that this is still a shortcut in their relationship, that their room is full of half-truths and things unsaid, and that even in this moment they’re not full in sync with each other. The rhythm isn’t quite right, and doggy style is fun, but also a good way to avoid eye contact. 

They’ll get there. They always do, always end up back on the same page, but never in that perfect sync they last had in 1989.

Carol knows it’s because Maria hides part of herself away. In a little black box. To protect herself from never feeling that heartbreak again. To prevent herself from breaking the way she did when Carol left the first time.

And, Carol can’t blame her, because she does the same thing.

The thought of it is sobering enough that she loses her orgasm, but still gasps, overstimulated against the flesh of Maria’s ass. Maria sobs through her own orgasm. If Carol’d come just then they’d have orgasmed together.

This is the problem with turning her brain on and off so often, she never knows when to appreciate the moment.

Maria’s fingers cover hers on her hip, and she pulls their joined hands to her lips, kissing Carol’s.

“You didn’t finish,” she looks up questioningly.

“Yeah, I started overthinking,” Carol doesn’t lie.

Maria rolls onto her back, little furrow between her brows, “I must not be doing my job if you can think while we’re having sex.”

“God, I wish I could be a brainless teenager again when I’m horny,” Carol leans down to kiss Maria.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Maria says, hand moving between Carol’s legs with interest.

Carol lets her, sighing as Maria’s fingers toy with her hood and probe her entrance.

“I love humping you,” Carol says, that brain-to-mouth filter still on the fritz.

“I love humping you too, Baby,” Maria laughs.

Carol rests her chin on her hand, deep in thought, but also watching Maria finger her, “Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if I hadn’t die--been shot down by the Kree that day?”

Maria removes her fingers, Carol frowns at that, huffing a little expectantly. Maria can’t help but smirk as she fingers herself, still coated in Carol’s cum. That gets the big brown shark eyes and animalistic growl she was expecting. Carol pushes Maria’s thighs apart chasing their mixed tastes. Maria’s still soaked from her orgasm, so there’s much for Carol to lap up with her tongue.

“I used to spend all hours of the day thinking about what would’ve happened. Fantasizing about ‘what if’s’? What if it had been me instead? What if you’d lived and stayed? Would we still be in California right now?” Maria says.

“Hope not, California is terrible,” Carol sticks her head up to declare.

“I’ll always love it because it’s where I met you,” Maria lets down that wall just a little to give her lover a mushy look.

Carol migrates up toward Maria’s mouth for a kiss, “It’s where we became a family.”

“Exactly. So, thank you, California.”

“Even if you are an expensive wasteland.”

Maria pushes Carol’s hair away from her face, and she can tell she likes the new style based on how often Maria’s been playing with her bangs. Carol takes a nipple between her lips and smiles at the hissed reaction it gets.

“We fucked for the first time in California,” Carol says before angling Maria’s breasts to get both nipples in her mouth at the same time.

“Fuuck. Yes!” Maria agrees emphatically.

“It was so hot, draining you like this, then eating you out all while the boys were waiting to buy us drinks,” Carol husks.

“I was mortified.”

“Perfectly natural,” Carol might be remarking on the memory or the state of Maria’s breasts.

“When you said you’d help me with my lactating I thought you were gonna… massage them until I was done, not latch on like a hungry toddler,” Maria gasps.

Carol swipes some of Maria’s cum to lubricate herself with, “I wasn’t gonna let it go to waste. And, if memory serves, it made you so wet.”

Maria moans, “I could’ve married you then and there.”

Carol pauses, looking up at Maria with liquid eyes, “I’d have said yes.”

“Baby, if it was legal I’d have gotten on one knee the first morning you ate me out then made me breakfast,” Maria shares.

“I’d beat you to it then,” Carol genuinely stops.

“One day,” Maria grabs Carol’s hand and tangles their fingers together, “One day there’ll be a ring here that tells the whole universe that you’re Mrs. Carol Rambeau.”

That relaxes Carol. She feels warmth spread through her chest, down her belly, then that pulling in her groin. All Maria has to do is--

Yeah, just like that.

Her gasp is soft as she cums.

They tangle together, like two peas in a pod, like they always have in the afterglow.

“I just keep wondering if we would’ve stayed together. Been kicked out of the USAF for being too gay. Or not, maybe been stationed somewhere else. Like Okinawa or Honolulu and raised Monica with island culture.”

“And been that close to your parents?” Maria strokes a path up and down Carol’s back. Carol shrugs, pouting slightly, “It’s not like we’d have to see them.”

She thinks about it some more, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m glad Monica grew up here and close to your parents instead. Joe and Marie Danvers can pass their bullshit onto Stevie’s kids instead.”

Maria scratches the back of Carol’s neck soothingly, “I have something to tell you about that, actually. I don’t know if you even want to hear it, but I’d want to know… if I were you.”

Carol frowns at Maria, “What could you possibly have to tell me about my parents?”

Maria takes a deep breath, “Your dad died. A few months ago. I… I’ve been keeping of track, in case you ever… you know.”

This. This is another one of those things her body’s forgotten while she’s been a weapon. Right? The human Carol Danvers would feel something… rage, grief, relief--anything at the news of her father’s death.

Carol exhales slowly, “I’m going to get a glass of water.”

“Carol,” Maria starts.

She strokes Maria’s cheek from her spot, perched on the edge of the bed, “I’m okay,” she reassures.

Carol makes sure to don her robe and wrap it around herself. It’s too late to be seen, but Monica might get up and be blinded by her mother’s naked ass. Plus, the neighbours in this town are always way too fucking friendly and might just be bringing over midnight red velvet as a gift or  _ whatever _ . 

A glass of water turns into standing on the porch and staring at the stars. She’s been up there. She’s disappeared into the Milky Way, just as she always wished she would on those days when being on Earth was too much to bear. When living with  _ Joe  _ was too much to bear.

If the last thing that chased her off Earth is gone, does that mean she can stay now? It’s not like Joe ever succeeded in chasing her off, or succeeded in crushing any of Carol’s spirit it’s just that--she thought she’d have more time to make peace with him.

Carol brings a full glass of water back upstairs to find Maria snoring into her pillow. Carol sheds her robe and crawls into bed behind her partner and thinks,  _ wait, did we just get engaged? _

  
  


* * *

 

 

Maria

“You wanna go to Hawaii?”

Carol’s looking like a sexy zookeeper in her khaki shirt and shorts and it is incredibly distracting. She looks human again, settled back into her old shape. There’s imperfections in the shapes of her teeth, her eyes are darker, softer, and she’s got that manic energy back.

“Yeah, I mean, for vacation to celebrate Mon’ graduating, and we could go surfing, and drive down the coast and--”

“Say goodbye to your father?” Maria asks.

Carol pauses, chewing on that silence, “No. Yes. Maybe? Can I decide when we get there?”

Maria sighs, searching for a reason not to. She could use the vacation. So could Monica. They have the money. It’s something normal families do. Unlike scraping alien pieces off their lawns or hiding their identities.

And, Joe Danvers may have been a piece of shit his whole life, but he was also Carol’s dad. There are things Carol inherited from him. Things Maria doesn’t like, but there are some good pieces too. She only noticed the good after seeing it interact with the bad. The edges of Carol smoothed down after years.

“Yeah, sure, we can go to the travel agent’s office in town,” Maria rubs a temple.

Carol bounces like a child, hopping into a kiss that almost knocks them over. They’re still giggling and smiling when Monica comes in from school.

“What are you two doing?” she asks, and gosh her hair really does look good.

“We’re--” Maria begins.

“It’s a surprise!” Carol says.

And they both cry through Monica’s graduation, watching their baby girl walk across that stage in her cap and gown to receive her scholarship and commendations. Maria’s a little mad that Monica purposefully tanked two electives (art and improv) to avoid the titles of Valedictorian and Salutatorian. Just because they can afford the rest of her schooling doesn’t mean that she should squander her success due to a lack of enthusiasm for speeches. Especially as a black girl going into STEM. And, Maria’s gonna fight her on it, just not today. Not when Carol’s taking pictures, beaming, and looking like herself the day before she died. Maria wants to kiss her and point to everyone saying, ‘look what we did’ but they have to live in this community. Well, she will. Carol’s a dandelion seed on the wind, and Monica’s moving to  _ Boston _ . (Carol will not stop singing  _ More Than a Feeling  _ every time the city comes up and it drives her and Monica a little crazy.) 

God, their baby is gonna be so far away. She’s going to have their big house all to herself.

That’s a terrifying thought.

One that follows her to the fancy dinner they have with her parents.

“You okay?” Carol asks her when they get home, shedding her own dress into the hamper, “You’ve been kinda quiet all night?”

“What am I gonna do when Monica’s gone?” Maria asks.

She sits heavily on the edge of their bed and looks at the pieces of the life that she’s been trying to hold together. Carol’s shooting her a raw look from the bathroom where she’s taking out her earrings.

“You can do anything you want, Baby,” Carol’s mostly bare when she stands in front of Maria. Just a pair of underwear.

“That’s the same as saying I can do nothing,” Maria tries to hide the bitterness in her voice with a smile.

“I mean it,” Carol drops into a crouch, “You could take up a pizza delivery job just to see the weird shit out in the bayou,” Maria snorts, “Or become a drug kingpin… start your own line of artisanal sauces and salsas… some combination of the three. You deliver the drugs in the pizza.”

“Secret’s in the sauce,” Maria sighs, playing along.

“Oh that’s good. You’ve gotta do it now.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Maria kisses Carol’s eyebrow.

“That’s why you keep me around,” Carol stands from her position, using Maria’s knee to leverage herself up.

“Among other reasons,” Maria’s own fingers trace a trail up Carol’s abs to her breasts.

“Mm, empty nesters means we get to get into really weird sex,” Carol leans down to kiss Maria.

“That is definitely a plus,” Maria hauls Carol onto her lap.

 

* * *

 

 

Monica

“Mom, you can’t bring that past security,” Monica says.

Carol looks down at her smoothie in confusion, “Why? It’s not like it’s a gun.”

“And you really can’t say stuff like that,” Maria grabs her partner, eyes huge.

“Okay, you two are being super weird,” Carol looks past them to see the TSA line and frowns, “What the hell? Why is security so tight?”

Which is the approximate moment that Monica realizes she’s failed to tell her mother about 9/11. The thought must also cross Maria’s mind, because they both look at each other.

“Oh, okay, okay, so the deaths of American citizens and a major threat to international security just never came up?” Carol sounds incredulous.

“It’s not like you were there to do anything about it!” Monica can feel herself saying before she can stop it.

Carol’s silent after that. Maria situates herself between the two of them, demonstrating the procedure for her girlfriend and shooting Monica looks.

“I’m sorry,” Monica says, as she’s removing her shoes, “That was uncalled for.”

Carol shrugs, over-causal, “It wasn’t wrong.”

Monica’s loved flight since the first time her mom took her up in a plane. It’s in her blood, evidenced by the two women to her left. They’re in the history books, they’re in the triple digits of women who’ve taken to the sky. Women like Bessie Coleman and the Night Witches. Fish gotta swim, and Danvers-Rambeau women gotta fly. 

They have a layover in Denver that takes like an hour, but Carol grumbles the whole time about how they should’ve just taken a Quadjet.

“The inconvenience is part of the family trip experience,” Maria says, rubbing circles on Carol’s knuckles.

Monica feels instantly alert and turns to see an older woman scowling at them. Her ears get red and hot, “We’re in public,” she chastises her mother.

Maria sucks her teeth and retracts her hand. Carol grabs it before she can, staring down the stranger, “She’ll mind her own fucking business before we give her something to really scowl about.”

“Honey, it’s not worth getting escorted out by security.”

Which worsens Carol’s mood, because telling a goddess that she can’t kiss her wife or else mortal laws will prevent her from going to the beach is such a surreal thing.

The Honolulu Airport is more surreal though, because it’s  _ exactly how Monica pictured it  _ right down to the Elvis playing faintly over loudspeaker. 

Carol leads them out, bouncing with energy again. It’s like they’re back on the base and Monica is four and doesn’t understand why her mothers are so scared all the time.

It’s raining, and Carol twirls in it, drops sizzling on her skin.

“Baby,” Maria says pointedly.

“Oops,” Carol takes a deep breath and her body cools. Back to normal.

She’s not normal. They’re not normal.

Monica’s at grunt level cranky by the time they finish renting out a car and drive into town. Carol narrates the whole time, still buzzing with nostalgia.

“We have to go to Zippy’s while we’re here. Show you how real chili’s done,” Carol says.

“It’d better be good with how much you’ve talked it up for twenty damn years,” Maria says.

Monica puts her walkman on and stares out the window. Tropical concrete meets the eye. Birds are different, some more colourful, some not, but foreign all the same. Palm trees line the sky, making dark silhouettes against an orange and blue sky, pink blending the two at the midpoint.

It’s dark by the time they reach their hotel on the beach and they’ve been up for close to twenty hours.

A shower and dinner fixes her mood, but then she’s flopped out on her bed and staring out the patio wondering:  _ well, now what?  _ Because she hasn’t thought about life in the space between high school and college. It's not like she'll be in the existential rift for long, but it does hit her hard as she stares up at the milky way from the beach. She reaches a hand up towards the sky, fingers grasping and palm cupping like the liquid swirls of space dust are slipping through her fingers. 

“Your mom used to look at the sky like that,” Maria's voice comes from behind her. 

Monica turns, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep the wind from pushing it into her face. 

The sand here is orange and chunky in a way Monica didn't expect, and the fragments of sediment and shell keep sticking to her legs and cheeks with the wind. 

Maria joins her, ankle deep in the Pacific ocean and watching the sky. Her hair's down and natural, something Monica hasn't seen her do in a public space since...well a long time. 

“They're just pretty, that's all,” Monica justifies. 

Maria pinches her elbow, “Don't lie to me. I can see it in your face. One day you'll be out there too and I'll be--”

“I'll always come back home, Mama,” Monica reaches for her mother's hand. 

“Let a woman finish. Maybe I'll go to space too. Help your mom play space cop.”

Monica laughs because that paints an interesting picture, “Good thing we don't have any pets then.”

“You are not going to reverse psychology me into getting you a dog.”

“I'm moving to a dorm. I don't need a dog. Now, a ferret on the other hand….”

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i know a lot of people were bothered by monica being the first woman to take the mantle of captain marvel (when carol was miss marvel) and have her replaced by a white woman. so, i was like "okay what if captain marvel was monica's call sign, but it got associated with carol somehow" so stay tuned for that (she said, even tho she is notorious for abandoning wips)
> 
> blease review it makes my day, week, month, and year when people say nice things about the stuff i type


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